


the mess you made was nominated

by mockturtletale



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Biting, Loyalty, M/M, NHL Awards, Other, Pride, nhl awards 2012, team feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockturtletale/pseuds/mockturtletale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were it, for Ryan, and together they’d be brilliant. He <i>knew</i> it the moment he realized it, finding it already in him like it had been laced through his bones all along, hidden beneath his teeth and kept in the cartilage grown to curve over his heart. Ryan had bled for this team that chose him, and he’d keep on bleeding for them until there was a little bit of who he was in everything they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the mess you made was nominated

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the NHL Awards challenge at home_ice.
> 
> Warning for some mostly playful biting.
> 
> Uhhhh .... what might read like excessive optimism for the future of the Edmonton Oilers to non-Oilers fans.

Packing his bags for Vegas, Ryan is more concerned about the prospect of seeing Jordan than he is about winning or losing awards. 

 

-

 

It’s only been a few weeks since they’d all scattered home at the end of the season. At the time, they’d all been in a pretty strange place. Listless and sluggish, disappointed that their season was coming to an end so soon. Ryan knew Jordan and Taylor especially had hoped that this year the difference would be evident - illustrated by a playoff run that would immortalize improvement at last, even if it was short lived, even if it wasn’t absolute. 

He has achieved more than he’d hoped, and together they’ve cast that doubt over their opponents disregard. They’ve had big wins and shock victories, broken personal records and limped off the ice with broken bones. Each and every night they went out there to win, and with that realized as more than simply possible, they’re moving on with the kind of confidence that comes only from the painful remembrance of mistakes made and opportunities missed. 

They are a better team this year, and Ryan’s first year in the NHL is one marked by expectation and delivery, early accolades and late injury. 

It hadn’t been all downhill from any point for Ryan, but at a certain point he’d had to wonder if he hadn’t done enough, if he’d let his team down this year. 

That point had come three days after their season ended, standing at the front door of Taylor and Jordan’s apartment saying goodbye for a few weeks and feeling like he was saying more than that, leaving for longer too. 

He’d looked at the thin, strained smile they were both showing him and he’d wondered if it was for him. He’d wondered if he could have prevented it. If maybe he could have worked harder, and not gotten injured, and seen to it that they’d won more games, done more to show the league what they’re capable of now. 

Ryan doesn’t think that that responsibility lies entirely on his shoulders and Ryan has never consciously underachieved. He’s never really underachieved period. To find himself on a team constantly expected to embarrass themselves had been an adjustment, but he’s worked to change that expectation, has never and will never learn to accept less than he knows he’s capable of. 

Being on an NHL team means playing with the best, and Ryan can’t simply _take_ responsibility that doesn’t belong to him, here. 

But he can question his own performance, look back on it and see in glaring, cutting detail the times when he could have done more, when he should have pushed himself harder and would have rested easy for the knowledge that he did so to not have to see Taylor and Jordan looking at him like that, would have known it was worth it. 

They had looked at him in defeat. 

 

-

 

{ Taylor gets incredibly frustrated when they lose, is so demonstratively bothered by it that you could be forgiven for missing how Jordan sits in the locker room after some games, his hands white knuckled around every piece of padding he yanks from his body, smoothly pulling off his jersey as quickly as he can like he thinks he doesn’t deserve to wear it any longer, his composure fraying visibly in the way he overcompensates with every movement, throwing things wide of laundry bins and reaching too far for something on his shelf, knocking everything over. It’s like he doesn’t know what he’s capable of, has lost touch with the body that he spends every single day working on and wearing out and building up and nursing back to full health. 

Taylor is louder in his dissent, but Jordan takes it harder and he keeps the feeling longer. Taylor lets it out and moves on, but Jordan turns it inward and Ryan sees how it bleeds into everything he says and does - probably everything he thinks too - for days afterwards. }

 

-

 

They had looked at him like they were trying to forget defeat, like they were looking forward to forgetting about it for a while and coming back to do things differently, to start again and do better. 

They’d looked at him like they’d _accepted_ it, and layered it over with a thin layer of hope, eager for something to look forward to but still anchored in loss, tethered deep in taking to heart what others were quick to tell them _were_ their limitations. 

Jordan and Taylor weren’t stupid, they knew better than to buy into bullshit, but the thought that some small fragment of the doubt they all had to face when they listened to everything everyone said about the Oilers chances - the Oilers past as indication of their future - the idea that even a second of that might have stayed with them, threatened to take root as truth … that was unacceptable to Ryan. 

He’d immediately questioned his own part in all of this, his failings and his success. He’d weighed it all up in that instant, and then scrapped the scale completely, pushed it all aside and decided that he didn’t need to go back over anything that had happened this year. 

Ryan knew better than recollection, better than mere memory, that this team was his home in the truest sense he’d found since he sent his first puck sailing into the back of a net at aged 5. 

He knew that this team was his, that Jordan and Taylor were _his_ , and that that all added up to one thing: family. 

Origin. Dynasty. Blood. 

Ryan had bled for this team that chose him, and he’d keep on bleeding for them until there was a little bit of who he was in everything they do, because he’s here to stay and he’s here for _them_. Because of them. With them. 

At the draft, Ryan had been thinking about hockey. About finding a place to show people what he could do and the opportunity to get better. Going first overall had felt like being struck by lightning, seared through and lit up by luck. 

Standing there saying goodbye to his teammates, his friends, Ryan’s moment of realization was like a double strike. White hot and instant, but not luck this time, not bright, charred gratitude. Twin charges of pure and driven desire, determination to be better. For his team and for himself, and for Jordan and Taylor in a way that was different still. 

Not only was he never going to let them down, he was going to be as much for them as they’d let him be, there as often and as fully as they needed. He was going to rely on them, and trust them without doubt, without pause or deliberation. 

They were it, for Ryan, and together they’d be brilliant. He _knew_ it the moment he realized it, finding it already in him like it had been laced through his bones all along, hidden beneath his teeth and kept in the cartilage grown to curve over his heart. 

They _are_ to be together, and realizing it - remembering it, finally - had spread through Ryan like wildfire, eating away at his doubts, burning worry and fear and regret to ash that he would brush off after every practice, before every single game to come. 

Being so sure, so resolutely assured, had been new for Ryan, and in the time it had taken to adjust in that moment he’d lost the run of himself just a little, just for a second. He can’t explain the urge even now, but he’s not sorry for what he’d done and he wouldn’t take it back if he had the chance. 

Having said their goodbyes, they’d been standing in the doorway, paused at the point where someone either hugs someone or walks away from a potential hug. They found themselves here a lot, and one of the three of them had yet to walk away from it, but Ryan took it to the next level then, because that was where they were heading and he was eager to see what it was like, impatient for it already. 

Ryan had grinned at them and said “next season, okay? It won’t be like this. We’re going to be great,” and he’d meant it. He’d been flushed bright with conviction, so eager to show them, and he hadn’t thought about it at all, but it had just seemed right when he’d stepped into Taylor’s space and lifted his hands to cup Taylor’s face, to trip his thumbs up over the line of his jaw and press his mouth to Taylor’s. Taylor had gone with it, opened right up for it when Ryan pushed his tongue in against Taylor’s in soothing brushes. They’d kissed for a long moment, fraught and languid - Ryan set on convincing Taylor of something he couldn’t say, Taylor quick to keep up - and then Ryan had pulled away and sealed their kiss to Jordan’s lips, not doing any more than that because Jordan hadn’t reacted as quickly as Taylor did, simply swayed forward a little, dazed when Ryan had stepped back. 

Neither of them had said anything, but they’d both waved back when he’d smiled and lifted a hand at them in parting, and he’d left them standing there in the doorway, exchanging confused looks but not yelling at him, not retreating in horror. 

They were going to be fine, and better than that, and Ryan couldn’t wait. 

 

\- 

 

He doesn’t doubt that, not even now, but a note of apprehension follows him to the airport and takes the seat next to him on the flight to Vegas, hovers over the arrivals board and makes it hard for Ryan to find Jordan’s flight listed in font so small he has to squint to read it. 

Jordan and Taylor are together, but not exclusive. They don’t date, but they sleep in the same bed and Ryan has never seen them go home with anyone other than one another, though they both assure him that it happens, that it _could_ happen. 

Ryan is sure that this is right, but he isn’t entirely sure that they’re ready to see that. They’ve texted and called since they all saw one another last, and it hasn’t been awkward at all, but meeting in person and spending a few days together will be the mark of the change if there has been one, Ryan thinks. 

When he spots Jordan, the change settles over him like relief and elation at once. The threat of loss vanquished by the thrill of victory, the promise of reign. Jordan’s stroll quickens when he sees Ryan, and he’s grinning before he reaches him, dragging his suitcase to a halt right next to Ryan’s and reaching for him, wrapping him up in a hug that Ryan gladly sinks into. His hands find Jordan’s shoulder blades easily, pressing him even further forward, and Jordan tilts his face down against Ryan’s throat, hiding a brush of his lips in under the collar of Ryan’s shirt, hot and soft above the dip of Ryan’s collarbones. 

“It’s good to see you,” Jordan says when he pulls away, and Ryan smiles a bashful, pleased smile at him and reaches for the handle of Jordan’s suitcase when what he really wants to do is reach for his hand instead. 

 

\- 

 

Their rooms are right next to one another, and with the entire floor of the hotel taken over by the NHL Ryan wonders if they’ll ever get any sleep. 

It’s a great opportunity to catch up with players from other teams, to get together without contention of immediate competition at stake, but Ryan is greedy for Jordan, never eager to share his attention with anyone other than Taylor. 

Judging by the way Jordan takes both sets of their keycards and hands Ryan back one of each, Ryan doesn’t think it’s going to be a problem. 

 

\- 

 

They eat breakfast together, room service consumed in silence, in bites taken between soft smiles. They can’t keep their eyes off one another, the brand new and the possibilities too hard to resist, too easy to imagine. 

They drive fast cars and pour themselves into ridiculous costumes to climb poles, and Ryan can’t believe this is his life now but when he gets to look across the room and see Jordan smiling at him like that, he doesn’t mind so much. Not a bit. 

Jordan is so handsy with Ryan he feels like he’ll never stop blushing. It’s nothing overt, nothing too obvious or too much, but it’s very nearly more than Ryan can stand. Every time Jordan lets their fingers brush, or gently directs Ryan with a hand at his hip, Ryan wants more. When they ride the elevator together Jordan steps in front of Ryan instead of standing next to him to make room for other people, leaning back into him in this way that shows Ryan exactly how perfectly Jordan fits against him when Ryan can’t take advantage of it, can’t _do_ anything about it. 

Ryan is standing in the hotel bar the night before the awards, catching up with Gabe, when someone comes up behind him and rests their chin in over his shoulder. He knows it’s Jordan the second he touches him, even before he smells the new cologne that he’s already learned to recognize from the pillows in his room, but he needs to take a second and close his eyes against the rush of want that twists through him anyway. 

“Hey Landy,” Jordan says, and Ryan shivers at the way Jordan’s voice vibrates against his shoulder. 

Jordan comes to stand next to him instead, but slips a hand up under the back of Ryan’s jacket, his palm warm through Ryan’s shirt and probably meant to soothe away the shiver, but prolonging it instead, sending it dipping lower in Ryan’s stomach. 

“Keeping a close eye on the rookie, Ebs?” Gabe asks with wide, amused eyes. 

“Someone has to,” Jordan replies, shaking his head at Ryan, pouting pitifully and put upon. 

Ryan hates him almost as much as he desperately wants to drag him away. 

They make small talk for a while, Jordan and Gabe bonding over their All Star glory until Ryan’s fake yawns turn real and he can’t wait for Jordan to pick up the hint anymore. 

He excuses himself, ignoring the pointed chirps about rookies and bedtimes. He makes it all the way upstairs and most of the way out of his suit before the door opens again and Jordan slips into his room. 

Ryan had only switched on his bedside lamp when he’d come up, so Jordan is shrouded in shadow when he sinks back against the door, letting his shoulders take his weight and folding his arms, not saying a word as he watches Ryan get undressed. 

They haven’t talked about it, not even their first kisses, and this is heavy with the weight of confirmation - admission and commitment. 

Jordan’s gaze is steady, sharp and confident in a way that Ryan loves, because that’s exactly what it’s about. Being sure. Being exactly what one another need and knowing that - trusting it completely. 

When Ryan gets down to his boxers he heads toward the bathroom, waiting to see what Jordan is going to do but deciding to brush his teeth in the meantime until that becomes apparent. Jordan stops him before he gets there, yanking him forward with a grip around Ryan’s wrist that bites into his skin just slightly, has tugged his skin white under pressure when Ryan looks down because he can’t look at Jordan right now. He can’t look at Jordan when he pulls or forward, or when he pushes Ryan back against the door, or when he drags his mouth wetly down the line of Ryan’s throat and then sets his teeth in against the base and _bites_. 

Jordan lifts his head and Ryan wishes he couldn’t look then either, because when he does Jordan’s mouth is flushed and shining and his eyes are so dark, framed half shut by his eyelashes and unblinking, staring at Ryan like Ryan’s the one who has just bitten Jordan instead of the other way around. 

Ryan will be forgiven for whimpering, he’s confident, because only someone capable of staying quiet in the face of seeing Jordan look at them like this could judge him, and that notion renders the possibility void. 

“We can’t, you know that, right?” Jordan asks, and he’s begging Ryan to understand. Ryan does. 

“We have to wait. For Taylor,” he knows, because this is different. This isn’t a matter of exclusivity, it’s one of justice. Simple, necessary truth. 

Jordan nods, dropping Ryan’s gaze to drag the tip of his nose across the teeth marks he’s sealed in Ryan’s skin, and it burns just a little, a pleasant shock. 

“I really don’t want to,” Jordan says, the words muffled against Ryan’s clavicle, “I want you so bad, it’s all I can think about. All day, every time I look at you, and I can’t _stop_ looking at you.” 

Ryan swallows thickly and Jordan licks at his adam’s apple, sucks at his bitemark with insistence, like he’s making sure it stays. 

“Jordan,” he says, trying harder than he should have to to prevent it from coming with a gasp, “we can … when we kissed … you didn’t let me kiss you properly, and you should, we can,” he tries not to plead. 

Jordan breathes hard against his mark, wet and spreading goosebumps out across Ryan’s skin when the cool air hits it. 

When Jordan looks at Ryan this time, he’s smirking, smug and mean. Ryan is half hard in his boxers. 

“Yeah?” Jordan asks, voice so low it settles somewhere below Ryan’s stomach, liquid and hot. 

Ryan nods, tries to reach for Jordan and catch his mouth at the same time but Jordan is too fast, he ducks out of the way and pins Ryan’s hands to the door, holds him back against it with his hips. 

“Not here,” he says, “not like this,” he holds out, even with Ryan still straining for him. 

“We get to kiss, right? So it wouldn’t be breaking any rules to do it in bed. Right?” he asks, but he isn’t asking, not really. Not at all. 

“I get to drag you over there, and get you all spread out underneath me on the sheets, and then I get to kiss you. Only for a minute, but that won’t matter, because we’ll both be wearing nothing but our boxers, and if you’re already starting to get hard what are you going to be like when I’m straddling you with my tongue in your mouth, Ryan?” 

He’s going to most likely be dead, Ryan thinks. He’s almost there already. 

“ _Please_ ,” he answers instead, because he’s not above playing dirty, not for this cause. 

Jordan lets go of Ryan’s hands, doesn’t push him away when Ryan slips them inside Jordan’s jacket to find the warm curve of his waist. He rises up onto his toes instead, and pushes his hands into Ryan’s hair, holding him still so he can rub his nose over Ryan’s, their mouths so close they brush but don’t make the kind of meaningful contact Ryan needs right now. 

Jordan grins at him, eyes glinting. 

“Do you think you’ll need to jerk off, after?” he asks in a whisper against Ryan’s mouth, “because I think I will.” 

And that’s it, Ryan can’t wait any longer. 

He pushes Jordan backwards and goes straight for his jacket, tugging it down off his shoulders and dropping it on the floor, silencing Jordan’s indignant ‘hey’ by reaching for his belt buckle and working it open with deft, impatient fingers and a look that dares Jordan to keep complaining. 

Jordan works his shirt off, and steps out of the pants that Ryan sends pooling around his ankles, and then they’re tripping over one another to reach the bed, Jordan hopping on one foot to tug his socks off and Ryan ripping the sheets down, tumbling onto them when Jordan shoves him forward, follows him down. 

And then Ryan is on his back in the middle of the bed, and Jordan’s weight is balanced heavy and perfect across his hips, braced above him with his hands in the pillows on either side of Ryan’s head. Ryan stretches, arches underneath Jordan so he can test the balance, get used to the feeling of Jordan on top of him. Jordan leans in, eyes focused on Ryan’s mouth. 

“Now?” he asks, “now can I -” but he doesn’t get to finish the question before Ryan is lifting his head and cupping a hand around Jordan’s neck to drag him down. 

Jordan goes completely still when their lips meet, frozen for a split second before he falls into it, pushing his hands between the pillow and Ryan’s head to cup his skull, tilting his head up and kissing Ryan soundly, licking at his tongue and biting at his mouth, pulling away to find a breath before dipping back down to suck on Ryan’s tongue, breaking the rules by shifting his hips down into Ryan’s, letting them rock against one another for one spine-tinglingly satisfying second of blissful friction before he’s curling his toes in under Ryan’s thighs and shaking with the effort it takes to keep still, to pull away from Ryan’s mouth. 

“More,” Ryan says, the second he does, and Jordan winces, pained. He drags his hands down Ryan’s neck, over his chest to rest with his fingers spread apart on Ryan’s stomach, like it takes that kind of span to keep Ryan at bay, or like the more of him Jordan can cover up the less the temptation will overwhelm him. 

“We can’t. We really really can’t,” he says, and he’s right, and it sucks. But Ryan can be ruthless when he needs to be. 

“Taylor had one up on you all this time, right? And you two are so far ahead of me … I think we’ve got at least one more kiss in the bank, maybe even two,” he wheedles, and knows he’s already won when Jordan pauses to think about it. 

“One,” Jordan barters, “once more and I sleep here, but nothing else, not yet, not until it’s fair.” 

Ryan can live with that. 

 

\- 

 

Jordan gets up to fold his suit away and they take turns showering, exchanging sheepish grins as they pass one another. Before they climb back into bed together Jordan reaches for his phone to set an alarm for the morning, and Ryan texts Taylor goodnight for the both of them before they set their phones to the bedside table and switch off all the lights. 

They lie on their sides this time, facing one another in the center of the bed, together in the dark when they kiss goodnight. 

 

\- 

 

The bitemark blooms dark and full to the surface of Ryan’s skin in the morning, and he has to button his shirt all the way to the top when they heads out to greet the media. 

Jordan kisses the bruise before Ryan puts on his shirt, and after that too. 

 

\- 

 

Neither of them win the awards that they’re here having been nominated for, and Ryan has to remember that that’s why they were here at all. 

He congratulates Gabe, and he and Jordan mill around for just as long as is polite that night, congratulating people and fielding commiserations until they can escape. 

 

\- 

 

“Are you disappointed?” Ryan asks Jordan when they finally manage to slip away, and Jordan pauses in the middle of tugging his tie free of its knot to look at him. 

“I … yeah, I guess. I don’t think it really matters, but I don’t think it’s fair, either. You know we were all rooting for you, right? We all think you should have won it, and not because you’re on our team.” 

Ryan smiles, and pulls Jordan forward into a hug. 

“I mean _your_ award, you non,” he says into his shoulder, and Jordan huffs a laugh. 

 

\- 

 

“The only silverware I’m interested in lifting is the cup, and I’ll be handing that off to one of you, so I’m good until then,” Jordan says later when they’re curled up in bed together, lying on their sides with Jordan’s back tucked against Ryan’s chest so they can both see the laptop balanced on the bed next to them, see every detail of Taylor’s facial expressions as he lists to them the reasons why he’s so affronted on both their behalves. 

Jordan eventually talks him down, after a brief detour back to jealous petulance when he belatedly realizes they’re in bed together. 

The three of them spend the night that Jordan and Ryan miss out on winning some awards talking about the future, talking about their real goals and everything they know they’re capable of achieving next season, and the season after that, and the one after that. They talk about this summer too, make plans to spend what little free time they actually have together, and Ryan makes the spur of the moment decision to fly to LA with Jordan in the morning instead of going home. 

After they say goodbye to Taylor, Jordan stretches to put the laptop on the floor and settles back in against Ryan’s side. 

“You really did deserve it,” he says, resting his head in on Ryan’s shoulder and tracing the bruise at the bottom of Ryan’s throat with the pad of his thumb. 

“Gabe is a great player and he had an amazing season, and sure he didn’t get injured but you … you’re not just a rookie on our team. You took on as much as any of this year, more than most, and you never balked, never for one second let us down.” 

Hearing that from Jordan, presented to him in fierce, proud tones means so much more to Ryan than any award ever could. 

“Maybe it’s more about what I want than what I deserve,” he says, and rolls over to trap Jordan underneath him, wishing he’d played the sympathy card harder and wrangled some commiseration making out out of it. 

Jordan does kiss him once more before they fall asleep, pulling Ryan into his arms and not letting him move too far away even when they break apart, but he makes Ryan promise to make good on the two kisses that he owes Taylor now before they really truly begin this thing. 

Ryan agrees easily, he’s always responded well to targeted achievement. 

 

\- 

 

They have a couple of days before Jordan is due in LA for the first date of a golf tournament he’s playing in, and they wake up the next morning with a total lack of plans that is quickly scrapped when someone knocks on their door late that afternoon. 

Ryan climbs out of bed and pulls on some sweatpants to go see who it is, and experiences what he’s sure is probably a pretty embarrassing swooping feeling in his stomach when he pulls open the door to find Taylor standing there. 

“What are you - how are you here!?” he asks, so honestly baffled that he doesn’t bat an eyelid at how Taylor pushes past him into the room and kicks the door shut, towing Ryan back to the bed. 

Taylor ignores the question, murmuring a quiet “hey,” to Jordan once he’s crawled up over him, still fully clothed, instead. 

“Hi,” Jordan says, smiling softly at him and grinning at Ryan in a way that says he was definitely in on this. 

They reach for Ryan, Jordan making grabby hands for him, and when he climbs back into bed next to them Taylor shifts over to kiss him, still half on top of Jordan and holding one of each of their hands in his own. 

 

-

 

“I can’t believe you two shacked up without me,” he gripes, once he’s kicked off his shoes and settled on the bed between them. 

“I had to come get in on this before you get wasted and head off in search of wedding bands and an Elvis impersonator without me.” 

The ‘without me’ part is phrased in a way that makes Ryan kind of lightheaded, because it seems like that’s what mostly offends Taylor about everything he’s just said. 

When Ryan tunes back into the conversation Jordan is singing “if you like it then you should have put a ring on it,” and Taylor is punching him repeatedly but not too hard across the shoulder if the way Jordan is laughing is anything to go by. 

“So are we just gonna hang out here until we have to leave for LA or should we like … get out of bed or leave the room or something,” Ryan interrupts to ask, because he’s really hoping for a certain answer here. Praying for, almost. 

But he’s surprised for the second time today when Taylor wiggles a hand into his back pocket and produces a set of rental car keys with a flourish. 

“Actually, I was thinking roadtrip?” 

And really, roadtripping with these two when it’s summer and they’ve got nothing to do but hang out together, do a little golfing, and start gearing up for the coming season sounds a lot like Ryan’s idea of perfect, even if he hadn’t realized that until Taylor showed up to show him. 

“Shotgun!” Jordan calls before Ryan can, and that’s a kind of claim that warrants proven effort, Ryan thinks, so a scuffle breaks out. 

Taylor referees, and leers, and today continues to be nothing that Ryan had been expecting but pretty great anyway. 

 

\- 

 

So the three of drive away from Vegas together, and they don’t have any awards to show for their visit, but they have plenty of things that matter more. It’s not a loss, not defeat or disappointment. 

It’s just the beginning 

 

\--- --- ---

**Author's Note:**

> Not true / not profiting.


End file.
